Nov. 1, 2011, 11:14 p.m.
You know, people ask me what my favorite holiday is, and I always say it's my birthday because why would your favorite holiday not be the day dedicated to yourself. Right? But then Christmas is kind of nice with the tree, and presents, and (some of) the songs, plus the time off. Which is always nice. The 4th of July has fireworks and happens during the hottest time of the year, which I appreciate in a holiday.
But I've always thought I should be the Halloween guy.
For a pretty happy, marbles-together more or less guy, I'm a morbid fellow. I can talk about Jack the Ripper and modern serial killers to an alarming degree of detail. Possibly prodded by me, my brother and I wrote seventy-eighty gazillion horror screenplays, including a couple that were good enough to make us a few bucks.
The point is, I can be dark if I want to.
But the closest I got to being really enthusiastic about Halloween occurred in about 1980. I was ten, and it was the year that the second Stars Wars movie came out, and if you weren't talking about Darth Vader being Luke's father, you were talking like or talking about the new character, who was eclipsing Harrison Ford in charisma and raw, animal sex appeal: Yoda.
Passing by the coolest costume shop in Dayton, Ohio, I saw the mask of Yoda too amazingly perfect to be believed. My mom said I could be Yoda, if I promised to be Yoda for the next 20 years. I readily accepted that deal for that mask.